Barbering Duties
by DiamondTopaz
Summary: Roche finds himself in the unlikeliest of positions: on the run from the law, caring for the young Anais La Valette. How can he ensure that Temeria's only heir remains safe and grows up strong? (A heartfelt tribute to a certain other surrogate father/daughter pair from a certain other series...)


**Barbering Duties**

Anais screamed.

"Drop her, shiteater!" snarled Vernon Roche. Immediately after came the sound of steel slicing wet flesh.

The drowner squealed and released the little girl's ponytail, by which it had been dragging her over the bank into the depths. Anais sat up and rubbed the back of her head. Meanwhile, the standoff between her protector and the river-dwelling necrophages continued.

The first drowner lunged. Two more crawled onto the bank and joined the foray. Each sword swing sent one of them recoiling, but they kept on countering, stinking all the more of bruised, damp corpse. The defunct Temerian soldier's expert strikes by steel would have felled his aggressors in their natural lives. In undeath, silver was the best means to make short work of them—an element that Roche, unfortunately, lacked.

He glanced down the shoreline to the Blue Stripes' ship, a few scant yards away. Not much further now until Foltest's only heir—the child now in his charge—was safe on board. After singlehandedly tearing her away from Dethmold and a legion of Kaedweni forces, then escorting her through a dark forest to his vessel, he would be damned if he let the young princess now fall prey to a pack of hungry, amphibious zombies.

"The ship! Run!" he prompted her.

Anais lumbered to her feet and took off down the riverbank while Roche kept the drowners engaged. When she was far enough away, he looked for an opportunity to break away from combat. He was no witcher; the beasts could live on to eat another fisherman, for all he cared.

However, the drowners showed no signs of relenting. They came at him from the front and both sides. Each attack of his was met by three more of theirs.

Then suddenly, one of them convulsed. It lashed out for a moment or two while Roche tried to parry its frenzied slashes, then it fell onto its face. Two crossbow bolts jutted from its back.

He used the reprieve to sweep a second drowner off its slimy feet and then impale it on the ground. Its movement quickly ceased. In that time, another bolt appeared in the remaining third drowner's side. While it thrashed forth as the first had done, he finished it off by blade.

With the monstrous threat gone, Roche returned his attention to the ship. Standing on the deck was Ves, crossbow shouldered, Anais beside her.

"Impeccable timing," he commended his only surviving soldier.

"Sir," Ves acknowledged bleakly.

Roche sheathed his weapon and ventured on to meet the two on deck. He had yet to acclimate to how vacant the ship looked without its late crew. But mourning the Blue Stripes would have to be postponed a little longer…now that he had under his wing the girl whose future was key to ensuring his men didn't die all for naught.

"Where is Geralt?" Ves asked.

"He went his own way," Roche answered.

Ves' eyes fell on Anais. "And what of the boy?" she inquired, meaning the child's brother, Boussy.

"Anais is all we have left," the commander said solemnly. "I—we must keep her safe, and when the time comes, she'll be the one to reunite Temeria."

Anais' gaze slowly rose from the deck to her caretaker. She bit her lip. On their hike from Loc Muinne, she had spoken very little, and always with reluctance. "…Where are we going now?" she finally asked.

Roche looked down to her, his mind grappling for a reply. "For now, we keep moving," he finally responded.

"So we don't get caught?" the little girl guessed.

"Very good, so we don't get caught," he affirmed in a gentle tone. "There are still dangerous men about, so we must be cautious to avoid more trouble."

Ves looked on, bemused.

"Go and wait for me below deck, Anais," Roche instructed. "Once Ves and I get the boat out to water, you'd do well to remain unseen by passersby."

She obediently turned and made her way to the ship's hold, descending out of sight.

Roche turned his attention to Ves. "I suppose I don't need to say it, but I will all the same. Things didn't go as planned at the peace summit," he said.

"They seldom have as of late, Sir," she remarked.

"The royal children's wagon was ambushed. Boussy was killed and Anais fell into Dethmold's hands," he summarized. "An entire squad of Kaedweni bastards stood between me and her, and that arse-fucking sorcerer got away while I was retrieving her."

Ves raised an eyebrow. "Arse-fucking?"

"Never mind." Roche shook his head in revulsion. "The point is he escaped, meaning what happened in the Kaedweni camp is now common knowledge."

"Then we're fugitives now."

"No. Only me." He looked over the deck at the river ahead in thought, then turned back to Ves. She stood by, attentively, as though awaiting his next order. In spite of their debilitating casualties and the indignities that pig Henselt has subjected her to, her continued loyalty was commendable.

"Listen up, because I'll only say this once," he addressed her. "Under normal circumstances, I have no tolerance for deserters. But now…there is no longer any Blue Stripes to desert. You've served well, but Temeria is all but lost. If you decide to jump ship, so to speak, I won't begrudge you. You're free to do as you wish."

Her only display of emotion was to momentarily close her eyes. "Thank you, Sir. But my resolve hasn't left me. I've nowhere I prefer to be but here," she said.

He nodded, gratified by her words. "That's what I like to hear."

"But…a question, if I may."

"Yes?"

Ves steered her eyes towards the descent below deck where Anais had gone. "What do you intend to do with her?"

"She is Temeria's last hope," he said. "If Foltest's blood runs thick in her, then one day she'll be an admirable queen. I…we must do whatever is necessary to keep her from coming to harm until that day."

"I believe on at least one occasion, the Temple of Melitele near Vizima has been known to harbor children like her," Ves mused.

"That may be a start."

"But I would propose an even prompter start." Ves dipped her head in an impulsive bow. "The girl's leisurely life within La Valette Castle is long gone. Her pursuers will never relent."

"You're right," Roche admitted. "Radovid won't stop until Anais in his hands. Neither would whoresons like Baron Kimbolt, given half a chance."

"She should learn to defend herself from those pursuers—and not only human pursuers. I saw her nursing her head from where the drowners must have grabbed her hair," Ves added.

"I'll not see Foltest's heir become a mere monster slayer, if that's what you suggest," Roche said.

"Not at all, Sir. I only suggest that the length of her hair may be a liability," Ves replied. "I have some shears in my personal effects. If you wish, I can trim it for her, making her more difficult to recognize and less likely to be grabbed."

"Fine thinking, Ves," Roche commended. "But bring me the shears. I should do it myself."

"As you wish."

(***)

The boat was out to water not long afterward, Ves at the helm. Below deck, Roche examined the shears she had provided him. Barbering was not in a skill he'd count as in his repertoire…but he was determined to take upon himself any task for the wellbeing of Temeria's heir, however large or small.

Anais sat on a wooden crate in the hold, legs dangled over the sides, eyes focused on her twiddling thumbs in her lap. She looked up as Roche approached, and he was glad to see she was looking more and more at ease the further they put Loc Muinne behind them.

"Here you are," he began. "Anais, I'd like to say the worst is behind us, but we cannot be certain of this. Those drowners we saw were hardly the worst of their kind out there. Nor were the soldiers in Loc Muinne."

"What should we do?" the girl asked quietly.

"Those drowners nearly pulled you into the river by your hair," he said. "First and foremost, we need to make it so you can't be grabbed so easily again."

"How?"

He displayed the shears. "I'll need to cut your hair short."

She tugged apprehensively at her ponytail. "…Will I look like a boy?"

"You'll look like a soldier. Just like Ves."

She pursed her lips, pondering this. "That might be okay," she finally replied, and then removed the tie from her hair so it fell free.

"Good. Now try to sit perfectly still." He moved behind where she sat and took the first lock in hand. With extreme caution to ensure the blades touched only hair and not skin, he made the first snip. The excess fell to the deck, leaving a ragged edge inches from her scalp. He took the next lock and tried to cut it the same length as the first, despite the constant rocking of the boat.

All the while Anais sat straight and tall, heeding his instruction to remain still. With her fingers laced in her lap, she called images to his mind of her late father, seated regally in his throne in Vizima. Truly the child was bound to live up to King Foltest's grand example.

"Mother won't like this," the girl remarked. "She always wanted me to look like a lady and be proper. But Boussy was always allowed to be messy, and play with toy swords."

This was the most she had spoken all at once. Roche knew the issue of her family and her lost brother would come up eventually, yet he felt ill-prepared with words. "The Baroness—that is, your mother would understand and want you to be safe," he finally attempted. "Things are much different out here than they were in La Valette Castle."

"Boussy is gone," she added sadly.

_If only that fool Brigida were here to answer for her errors,_ Roche thought miserably. "I know," he replied. "And I also know how it is to lose someone close. Indeed, I know how it is to lose all you've ever known," he admitted gravely.

"How do you make it better?" she asked.

Leave it to a child to ask the most cutting questions—questions even the wisest sages would hesitate to answer. "…You simply go on," he said at last. "And you do what you think they would have wanted."

Her thumbs tapped against each other as she thought. "I'll have to remember that," she stated.

By now, the majority of her hair lay in lifeless piles on the deck. A short, boyish bob remained on her head, but there were still stubborn stray strands and uneven edges, which he set about to clip off.

"Do I look like a soldier yet?" Anais asked. "Like Ves?"

"Nearly the spitting image," he affirmed.

"I saw Ves shoot those drowners," she recalled. "Could I learn to do that too?"

"A crossbow may be a little heavy for you now," he answered. "But someday, when you're bigger and stronger, why not?"

She began to fidget ever so slightly. He did the best he could to snip off the remaining loose ends. It hadn't occurred to him to acquire a brush or comb before this task, so he just swept away the bristled mess from her head and shoulders by hand.

"There—you're done," he announced.

Anais hopped down from the crate, feeling at the new shortened style just around her ears. She turned to face Roche and earnestly said, "I want to use a sword, too."

"In this day and age, it's only fools who venture out with no means to defend themselves," he agreed. "I may have just the thing for you." He uncovered a spare dagger and extended it to her. "You may train with this, and when we get where we're going, we'll find something more fitting for you to use."

Anais gripped the handle firmly. "This is what Boussy would have wanted. Father, too."

Roche managed a smile. "I think you may be very right about that."


End file.
